


blazing in gold and quenching in purple

by south_like_sherman



Series: press my nose up to the glass around your heart [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, GAYYYYYYYYYY, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hyacinthus and Apollo, M/M, Metaphors, Mythology References, Presents, SO, Sleepy Cuddles, bc its me, but yeah surprisingly fluffy for this series, fluff for me i guess, hyacinths - Freeform, i promised didn't i, mostly - Freeform, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/south_like_sherman/pseuds/south_like_sherman
Summary: "Ok, so in retrospect, maybe a flower is a bit of an odd gift. And maybe it's a bit out of the blue, but—why not? Flowers are lovely, and it's Spring and he's happy, so—why not?"John? What's this?"John swallows hard, flicking out his tongue and moistening his cracked lips before pushing the ceramic pot closer to Alex over the counter."Flower," he mumbles, and pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. It's soft and green and several sizes too big, and it smells of earth and rain and—John likes it."orjohn gets alex a flower, conversation ensues at three am.[i swear this is the closest to fluff i'm ever getting]





	

Ok, so in retrospect, maybe a flower is a bit of an odd gift. And maybe it's a bit out of the blue, but—why not? Flowers are lovely, and it's Spring and he's happy, so—why not?

"John? What's this?"

John swallows hard, flicking out his tongue and moistening his cracked lips before pushing the ceramic pot closer to Alex over the counter.

"Flower," he mumbles, and pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. It's soft and green and several sizes too big, and it smells of earth and rain and—John likes it.

Alex's face seems to soften slightly, brow smoothing out and eyebrows relaxing, his mouth settling into a melt-y, gooey kind of smile, like it's going to drip right off his face. His eyes are trained on the round petals of the plant, and his fingers curl around the dusty edge of the pot slightly. John isn't quite sure what to think.

He clears his throats slightly, looks across at Alex through heavy lashes. "You like it?"

Alex's lips curl into a crooked grin, cheeks rounding and pressing at the lower edge of his eyes, and he laughs, a short huff of air escaping from between his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, it's gorgeous." His smile softens around the edges. "Thanks."

He glances up, reaches for John's hand and John can barely see him, because—the sun's in his eyes. He can't see.

* *

"John?" His name is always a question.

He mumbles something under his breath, the words muffled by the pillow and moonlight. He twists onto his side, sheets tangling around his legs and presses himself against Alex's side. It's dark behind his eyelids, and the sun's gone now. (Sometimes it feels like the sun's dead, and—isn't that stupid? But it feels like the sun dies, it feels like it's dead but there was never a funeral. John would've bought flowers for it if there was. But the sun's not dead and there's never a funeral, so maybe he doesn't need to buy flowers.)

"John." Not a question.

Alex keeps saying his name like that, first a question then a statement and John's almost sick of it. He's sick a lot.

"What," he groans, burrowing into the covers further.

"Wake up, I wanna ask you something." Alex nudges his shoulder, propping himself up on his elbow. The sheets slide down his torso as he moves, the moonlight gleaming off his bare skin. It feels strange to look at Alex at night, feels strange to look at him when the moon is illuminating his face instead of the sun. He doesn't know why, Alex just—looks better in gold, maybe. Looks better in fire. Better when he's burning. When he can't see.

John exhales heavily, before pushing himself up on his forearms and twisting his head to look at Alex, eyelids still heavy and lead-lined with sleep.

"What's up?"

Alex pulls his lower lip between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before releasing it.

"Why a hyacinth?"

John furrows his eyebrows, tilts his head. "You woke me up to ask that?"

Alex gives him a 'well duh' kind of expression, and leans further towards John, his face expectant and eager.

He exhales, thinks of the purple petals and the thick, heavy stem, the sweet, heady scent of the blossoms. (He likes yellow better, but—they didn't have any in the store.)

"Dunno. Makes me think of you, I guess. And it's pretty."

Alex frowns, seeming disappointed with this answer and presses on.

"Yeah, but what does it mean? Y'know, in flower language 'n all that shit."

"I don't speak flower language 'n all that shit," John mumbles, pausing for a second. "There was a greek myth about it though."

Alex gives him a look. "Spill."

John sighs heavily, clearing his throat and wracking his brain for the details, before beginning.

"Hyacinthus was some dude, really ripped and shit and—basically, he was hot. Caused some problems for him in the future.

"Hyacinthus is me," Alex groans, dragging out the last syllable and rolling his eyes back in his head in an exaggerated expression, eyelashes fluttering.

John wants to frown at that, feels like crying for some stupid reason because—no. Alex can't be Hyacinthus. He just can't.

"No. You're not allowed to be him."

"Why not?"

"Because he dies." Alex isn't allowed to die.

"Oh." Alex snorts. "Spoiler alert."

John huffs, letting his arms give out and collapsing back onto the bed. "Do you want me to continue or not?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," Alex babbles, curling around John and pressing a kiss to his temple. "I'm listening."

John allows his lips to curl, corners twisting up as he traces a line with his forefinger up Alex's forearm. (Real real real real.)

"So Hyacinthus was really fucking hot, right? Well, he was so hot that even the gods took notice. I dunno if I can remember all the details, but you'll get a pretty good summary." He pauses to clear his throat. "Apollo—the dude who drives the sun chariot thing, was like whoa this dude is ripped, I gotta get me some of that."

He has to stop talking for a moment, face scrunching in an attempt to focus as Alex feathers a kiss over the soft hollow just behind his ear. (Somehow it always feels so much intimate when Alex is pressed right to him, and he's kissing the most breakable things about John—his wrists, his eyelids, his neck—anything he can shatter.) He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and continues.

"Basically they became friends or lovers or something, and one day they're playing with a frisbee or a discus or whatever the fuck they called it back then. Honestly I don't know why they were playing frisbee of all things, maybe they were really kinky, I don't know."

Alex laughs against his skin, and—Jesus John, fucking _focus_. (His breath feels like it's fogging up, and John thinks he's glass.)

"There was another guy though, Zephyrus, he was a god of the wind I think—East maybe? West? I don't know. But yeah, he had the hots for Hyacinthus too, and he got real jealous. Maybe frisbee was his thing, maybe he'd trademarked it or something, or maybe he was just jealous as fuck. For whatever reason, when he saw Apollo and Hyacinthus together with the frisbee thing, he got mad. Real mad. For some reason, he thought that killing Hyacinthus for being with Apollo would be fitting revenge, so he blew the discus off course, and it hit Hyacinthus and—those things were heavy as fuck, man."

He can hear his words tailing off a bit, and coughs as though that'll dislodge the lump in his throat. He tightens his grip on Alex's arm, just to make sure he's still there. ( _Real real real real_.)

"So he died. And Apollo, instead of letting Hades claim Hyacinthus' soul, turned him into a flower. Some say—" His voice cracks, and he has to restart. "Some say Apollo's tears fell on the flower and stained the petals. Some say you can still see them."

He thinks of the purple and the stem and the pot and—another life with violet eyes and bronze and discs, and someone's yelling _catch_ , and then there's blood and earth and he tastes copper and he's a flower he's a flower he's a flower and—Alex can't be Hyacinthus.

"Heavy," Alex mumbles, palm spread flat over the arch of John's hip bone, his other hand smoothing over the porcelain bones of John's wrist. He feels like he could fall apart.

Alex's lips press to his neck again, murmurs something into his skin and John sighs, lets himself melt. Alex can't be Hyacinthus.

**Author's Note:**

> in classics club teacher was telling us about that myth and she was like bros!!! straight!!! bros!!!! bitch no they were gay you gotta include the gay it's not riGHt  
> so. um. yeah. that was the fluff i guess like as fluffy as i'll ever get??? thanks so much for reading!!!  
> tumblr is [here](https://the-girl-who-cried-ship.tumblr.com)  
> please consider leaving a comment or kudos or something i will literally cry please and thank you um  
> have a lovely day!
> 
> ~ Kinzie


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